Crumbling Rose
by Wild Blood Rose
Summary: Chapter One: The West Wing. Belle finds herself inexplicably enchanted with one rose...
1. L’Aile d’ouest

**La Beauté et La Bête**

L'Aile d'ouest 

Belle watched carefully as her intrepid tour guides marched round the corner, oblivious to her abrupt departure. Looking up the darkened stairs she spotted blackened marks on the red-carpeted marble steps, and as she looked closer, her heart gave an involuntary jump. Her eyes widened as she reached out to touch it. Dried blood splattered the carpet.

Belle closed her eyes, heart fluttering, and looked determinedly up the stairs. _You aren't scared_, she told herself fiercely.

Firmly, she pushed away the strand of hair that forever hung in her vision and took the first step. Her brown shoes shook and she forced them to be still. _He can't imprison you twice. _She told herself. _What if it's the only way to get Papa back? _

She couldn't deny herself this, and shakily, she pushed her stubborn feet on upward.

At the top, she looked down, and smiled, satisfied that she had not been followed, nor had the enchanted servants noticed her absence. The returned her attention to what lay ahead and found herself facing the tallest set of doors she had ever seen, save for the ones that gave entrance to the castle. They were rich, stained a dark red-brown, and huge, elaborate lion paws clenched together as door-handles, barring entrance and yet, daring her to open them. She stepped forward, boldly, and as she did, the light catching the shattered shards of a broken mirror distracted her attention briefly.

She looked on, and carefully touched the delicately woven willow-wood frame. A couple of glassy pieces fell to the floor at her touch, and she saw herself: large brown eyes apprehensive, lips parted, dark hair drawn into a marine coloured ribbon. She forced her expression to calm and returned her attention to the doors. She stepped up to them, boldly, her eyes large.

Gently, she took hold of the favourably decorated paws and pulled them apart. She was surprised by the way they yielded to her touch, and how easily the doors creaked open.

Taking a breath, she stepped beyond the door, and closed it behind her. A breeze met her skin, a cold that was sallow and feverish. Candles hung in brackets on the wall so the dull was not total, and as she squinted through the gloom, she found wrecked furniture, discarded portraits, and slashed material. The carpet had been wrenched up, and as the breeze blew past her again, it brought the musty smell of old and decay, and Belle coughed, feeling disgusted and all at once much less brave than she had felt before.

A glowing light came from further off, but the care was past her, and for a while she merely stared, horrified at the upturned room. Yet more smashed mirrors hung crooked on the wall, and Belle, who had never been superstitious, found herself cursing the Beast to of bad luck, which clearly he had already suffered. She stopped and found herself confronting a row of open windows, which glinted on pools of liquid on the floor, she stooped and stepped back, suddenly, horrified at the sight of yet more blood.

For a moment, she was very afraid, and terrible images of wretched victims flitted through her mind. _He must come up her and torture them,_ she thought, tears in her eyes._ Torture them and then eat them and then..._

Her thoughts turned to her father, and she realised, with a sudden rush of a feeling she could not place, that The Beast had not murdered her father; he had let the man go. Her father was safe.

She breathed again and re-examined the blood. Surely it was not his own? The thought was new to her, and yet she could not dismiss it. A beast of his hideousness, surely he did not hurt himself?

Her question was answered for her, as she saw, amidst the blood, patched of hair, and skin. She felt sick, and, stumbling back, she almost fell into a dresser whose drawers had been ripped out, and whose structure was all but demolished.

She looked at it, and about the room once more, and her heart felt heavy with unsure emotion.

She gripped the dresser for support, and, as she drew in breaths, she noticed the portrait that hung, at a jaunted angle above it. It was slashed, like the rest of them, but cold, familiar eyes looked at her, and she lifted the tatters of the painting. The eyes were azure, like a rich ocean, and life brimmed within, alive and beautiful. Like an August sky. The face was handsome, square-jawed and Belle's heart jumped. His hair was light brown, falling past his shoulders, and Belle was enchanted by him. Her mind was just beginning to piece what was familiar about him, when a dim light, rose-pink and alien in this haunted room glittered at the corner of her vision. She turned, curious, and found the source of the light almost instantly.

It radiated from behind a screen, which she pulled back eagerly.

She gasped. Before her, encased in a globe, shining so beautifully was a rose. The stem glistened with dew, and each petal hung in a state of frozen beauty. Belle gasped, entranced. Carefully, she reached out to touch the glass that encased it, and hesitating, she pulled it away.

She put it down carefully, her breath coming sharply. She was intoxicated. Tentatively, she reached out with a pale hand.

Something growled from behind her, and, coming out of the trance, Belle turned.


	2. Les Loups

Belle whirled around, her nerves teetering on a knife-edge. Gulping down her fear, she turned to face the enormous eyes. It was the first time she had noticed their colour: an icy blue, sparkling in the ethereal light of the rose. His breath billowed from a gap between his fangs and he glared at her with such ferocity that Belle stepped back, her heart pounding.

'What are you doing here?' he hissed, the words stinging her.

'I...I'm sorry... I didn't know...'

'DO YOU REALISE WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE?'

His bellow made her cower, and she fought hard not to weep in terror. Instead, she dug her nail into her leg.

'I' was all she managed to get out before her sentence was drowned by his scream.

'GET OUUUTTT! GEEEHTTT OUUUUT!'

Belle turned a fled, her heart thudding. Breathlessly, she threw herself at the doors, which she had let herself through, slipping on a pool of blood. She screamed as he bellowed after her and skidding at the top of the stairs she threw herself down them, skipping two or three steps at a time.

As she pelted through the corridor, the armour, which before had turned slyly to look in her direction snapped all at once to watch her run, and, hearing their masters yells, they barricaded her entrance to the great hall.

'No!' one cried, 'You cannot leave yet! You cannot leave yet! Stay! Please stay!'

Metal fingers grasped her dress trim desperately, twisting the cloth so Belle was pulled back in her hurry to flee the corridor. She slammed the armour into the wall, muttering, 'Promise or no promise, I won't stay here a minute longer!' Yet more armour stood in her way, winding around her like a tangle of stubborn metal. She was almost trapped until he dress ripped, all down the back, and she heard the distinguishable voice of Mrs Potts. 'Come on, luv, calm down, and sit, lets...'

But Belle was through, she darted through a gap in their number, and pushing through, she came free and found the rings that let her into the great hall. She let herself down the first flight of stairs and jumped down the rest. Landing clumsily, she heard the rampage echoing from the West Wing and fear gripped her, making her stand still for an instant. Tears leaked down her face, and relief coursed through her body. She was free. She called her horse, who, for the past day had been grazing at random outside the gates, looking up mournfully to where both his mistress and master had disappeared. He only had had to move once, when the wolves began to gather, and only then.

Belle was in luck, for as she came to the gate, she found Philippe looking up alarmed at the rage issuing from the castle tower. A distant roar reached Belle and it proved to be the motivation she need to run once more. Seizing the gates, she threw them open, letting them clammer against the walls. They stayed open, swinging mournfully as bell rushed through them and threw her arms around the neck of her horse, who nuzzled his mistress' chocolate curls daintily. Shaking, Belle fumbled to tighten the straps on Philippe's saddle and bridle. This done, she swung herself up and urged the horse on.

Only when the strangled yells pass did she allow Philippe to slow to a trot.

Finally she got down and leaned against a tree, heart pounding, breath caught tight in her chest. Shuddering, she pressed cool snow into her face to calm herself, and, patting Philippe's flanks, she wrapped a blanket around herself and closed her eyes.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

'Do you have _any_ self control at all?'

Seth glared at the teapot, Mrs. Potts. Once, a round, friendly looking woman, his ex-tea lady was certainly formidable in her own temper.

'I hope you're happy!' she sniffed, her lecture drying up. It was a long time since she had ranted at him for fifteen minutes non-stop, and Seth's temper had been worn to merely a thread. He was ready to release it in about three seconds.

Turning, he growled to warn her that he was close to seething.

'It wasn't my fault.' His voice shook.

'Of course not!' Mrs Potts's porcelain flushed pink, and the lid which had once been her bonnet lifted as she bounced in sheer irritation. Steam boiled as she glared at him with glassy eyes.

Seth's blood boiled, and his fist was ready to shatter her. His paw came down on her fragile mass, and he began to curse roar when the porcelain held.

'Idiot.' Lumiére had sauntered in, and his wax eyes were alight.

'You should remember the spell keeps us intact. He glanced at the rose and winced as five petals fell at once. 'But it costs you.'

Seth roared and grabbed the glittering mirror. 'Show me the girl.' He snapped.

The surface of it's crystalline surface glimmered teasingly at him, before shimmering. As if he were looking through a window, Seth beheld Belle. At first her eyes had looked closed, and he had the impression that she was asleep, when her eyelids flickered and she sat up he frowned, and realising something was wrong squinted closer.

In his own form, his eyes were a good deal sharper than was necessary, though they still retained the azure of his human eyes. As he watched, thin, skinny dogs stalked through the trees, their jaws loose, yellow eyes hungry.

Seth knew the wolves in the forest near would die in their hundreds in Winter, as so many things did in the harshness of the cold. The ones that surrounded Belle looked hungrier than ever, and, though she hadn't seen them, it was clear she felt something was wrong.

Seth cringed as he watched her mouth call 'Hello?'

His eyes flicked to her horse, who was eying the trees, ready to bolt had he the need, but since deserting his master, Philippe looked determined to stay with his mistress.

Seth put the mirror down, screwing up his eyes. A mental battle ensued, ending with compassion emerging victorious. Seth sighed, a harsh, angry sigh and bolted past his ornament-servants.

He only hoped the wolves wouldn't get to her before he did.

Contrary to what the Beast had thought, Belle was well aware of the wolves. Their hair lank and missing in patches, limp jaws hanging open with expressionless hunger.

Their flanks and chest were skeletal, the skin clinging close to almost bare rib cages.

They were hardly even hunting like a pack, being reduced to circling and snapping at her ankles. Philippe had twice made to bolt away, but had always stopped short at seeing his helpless mistress.

Seizing a stray branch, Belle had so far fended off three wolves from her horse, which she knew was their real prize.

Philippe had killed one. It lay on the snow, blood hardly trickling, it's backbone sticking grotesquely out from its fur. It was so thin Philippe's hoof had killed it with one blow, and three among them were already wounded.

Belle backed up, ready to leap into the saddle and run, but her hand on the leather warned them and they finally stopped playing with her and closed in, eyes glinting maliciously.

Belle made the decision and hauled herself into the saddle, digging her heels hard into Philippe's flanks.

The horse jerked forward with relief, plunging through the stick-like wolves with ease. They seemed stunned at first, watching their escaping prey was puzzlement, before one snarled and they gave chase, licking slavering jaws.

Belle hurried on, looking back, she saw the distance between them being eaten by hungry limbs. They may be weak, but they were starving and Belle alone would satisfy them for at least a couple of days.

Looking back cost her as a branch snagged her cape and she was forced back, Grabbing the horn of the saddle, Belle undid the catch that held it around her throat and allowed it to slip away from her shoulders.

She watched as the wolves snaked around it, one sniff enough to hunger them further for it bore both her and Philippe's scent.

This look back cost her greatly, for she unwittingly had driven Philippe into a lake, which had frozen over. Philippe stood there, hooves slipping precariously on the ice before a cracking, snapping noise drowned the silence. The ice beneath them caved in and Belle slipped from the saddle, urging her horse to get to shore.

The cold bit into her and her limbs numbed almost instantly. Belle's eyes rolled as she gripped the edge of the ice. It rolled way as she scrabbled for purchase, and two loud yelps urged her on as she realised the wolves had caught up with her. She didn't dare look back, lest her misfortune greaten. Two kicks to stay ashore cost her the boots she wore for riding, and a heave upward cost her two inches of skin which came away with the sticky ice. She howled with pain, but pulled herself up anyway, rubbing her knee as she did.

She looked up, and saw Philippe, struggling with the reins. They were entangled in a great oak's branches, and the horse was straining desperately, eyes wide and fearful as it tugged away from it's restraints. Belle walked to him and seized another branch for defence. She did it just in time, the straggly wolves were hauling themselves ashore, the looking in their eyes beyond hunger. Now they had to eat, there was no way an ordeal like that could end without meat.

Fearfully, Belle stood, steadfastly in front her horse, mouth fixed in a determined line. Her limbs were frozen stiff, bare feet dead white amongst the drifts of snow she stood in, ankle-deep.

The first wolf charged and she batted it's muzzled away hard with the brunt of the stick, squealing. The second and third moved in at the same time and while Belle worked forcefully to stun them, a third reached past her blows to grab her ankle in it's jaws. She tripped and fell, ankle twisting in the wolf's jaws and she screamed, bashing the brute's neck with her weapon. He rolled off her, growling, and came back at her, eyes hungry, teeth bared. Blood stained his yellow teeth and Belle knew it was her own. As the wolves closed in, Belle struggled to calm a panicking Philippe, who was rearing agitatedly. The wolves pouched, and Belle raised her arm, closing her eyes.

But no impact came. No thud or snap. She heard growling, and opened her eyes fearfully. Brown fur now stood in her way, not grey or white. The beast stood over her, his hulking form arched menacingly. He growled and the wolves pounced, howling their battle cries.

He flung them from him, hauling their scrawny, starved bodies into the lake, where they floundered. Jaw sank into the Beast's flesh and he roared in pain. Belle, regaining her wits, had the thought to fend off stragglers who chose not to battle the Beast. She stunned an attacker, knowing it forcefully around the head. It fell, lying on the snow, blood trickling from its jaw. Dazed, it limped away, whimpering, to be replaced by another. This one was healthier, stronger, and its eyes were hungry, focused on Philippe. Belle moved forward, beating it away, yelling as loud as she could. Eventually it scarpered and Belle turned determinedly, intending to come to the aid of her rescuer.

He had collapsed. His fur was tousled by a fresh breeze, and wolves nuzzled at bloody wounds. They were stragglers. All the other had left, deciding, despite their hunger to find easier prey. Belle beat them, knocking a last-attempt survivor dead, and scaring another.

Silence closed in, and Belle looked carefully at the blood-stained battle ground, her brown eyes filling with tears.

A/N **Trudi Rose kindly pointed out to me that the name 'Seth' is neither French nor for royalty. My explanation for this is that, rather than calling him 'Beast' Belle can call him by a name. It isn't his real name... that will be revealed towards the end (I intend to go a little over what the movie showed us) having said all that do you think perhaps that "Beast" is a good reminder of what he really is? Should I get rid of the name Seth? Reviews are the key!!**


	3. Culpabilité et Desicion

Belle collapsed in the snow and sobbed with relief, gasping for breath as she coughed back her pain. Her leg was badly bruised and until now she hadn't noticed the blood leaking past the thin fabric of her dress, a large brown stain was most noticeable on her side, but the bite wasn't deep. Even so, Belle winced as she stood up, and then she noticed her legs, streaked with blood, diluted from the snow and the pain unnoticeable what with the numbing powers of the icy air. As carefully as she could, she brought Philippe down from his rearing state and soothed him 'til his nature became at last quiescent. He moaned softly into her pale palm, and nuzzled her hair, making it stand on end. Gently, she pushed him away, and ran her hand through her straggled hair, caked with blood and soaked through by the snow and icy water they had confronted. She now turned to he beast, and turned away rather quickly. His eyes were closed, his mouth curled into an ugly sneer that made him look all the more fearsome. He was sprawled on the snow, blood leaking profusely from a cut in his arm – he had many more, but this was the most serious.

Belle bit her lip and wondered what to do. She couldn't _help _him. Not after he had forced her away so violently. But then… what had brought him to save her? What was it in his heart that had encouraged him to come back to her?

Her heart softened and for a moment she truly would have gone to him, if it hadn't been for some selfish voice at the back of her mind.

'You can take him back, yes. Of course you can. But you can't bring him out of that skin. You can't melt a beast like him. No reward, just foul breath and growling.'

She turned away stubbornly, meaning to haul herself back onto Philippe's back, but that was the moment he stirred.

His moan brought her whirling around, for it was undeniably a moan of agony, everything in his eyes said it as they rolled back into his skull.

Then the focused on her, and Belle saw him: truly vulnerable and afraid. Belle saw his paw twitch, and his large, thick furred fingers reach out to her desperately, wanting her to come to him, rescue him.

Then his head lay back, his eyes shut and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Belle turned back to the saddle and sobbed into it, cursing everything with all her heart. 'NO!' she yelled aloud.

'Not this! This isn't my burden! NOT MINE! DO you hear?' but the sound of her voice echoing around the clearing confirmed the answer to that.

She felt another sob rise in her, and she let it out, a cold despairing sound.

But she knew already. If she left him alone, she wouldn't live with herself. Not ever. She would mourn the demise of a _beast_, and nothing she could think of would be more shameful. Sighing with a heavy heart, she stumbled to him, and fell at his side.

_Enough _she told her delirious heart. _Just help him and be done with it. _

Gently, Belle unclasped the catches on her cloak, and laid it over him…

**Hey all! I am most very sorry… I truly will make this longer, but I thought I'd add this little bit in answer to your reviews. (Lovely as always and I thank you very muchly.)**

**CrimsonEnchantress: Well, hello again ( nice to here from you!) thanks for the comments, very much appreciated. Here are the translated chapter titles so far: **

**L'Aile d'ouest means "the west wing" in French.**

**Les Loups means "the wolves"**

**And Cupabilité et Decision means "complications and decision…**

**As for The book "Beauty" – yes, I have seen and heard of it and would love to read it….**

**Ahem, also thanks to everyone has reviewed. I will stop being a pain in the butt and get on with writing this thing!**


	4. Guérir

**A/N: I know you've all been insisting that I change the name "Seth" to something else. I think the name suits him, because its quite a raw name… however, to save arguments between myself and you, I have taken someone's suggestion and will now refer to the Beast as simply 'Beast'. In the meantime, can you suggest some French male names you'd like to have used? I only know Jeanne or Pierre and I think they're a bit boring! Cheers very much for all the reviews – very good feedback! (P.S. the next chapter is the ballroom scene, which will be very exciting I promise!)**

Mrs Potts arrived back from the kitchen, her eyes glaring at the unconscious Beast, draped in the armchair, he still looked fearsome and more than capable of murder.

Fortunately, Belle was in the room, which detained Mrs Potts from pouring her entire contents onto that stubborn face. However, because she was full of boiling water, she refrained and contented herself with glaring viciously at her master for the time being.

Cogsworth shot her a suspicious look before coughing loudly, alerting Belle to the presence of hot water.

'The servants are running you a hot bath upstairs, Madame,' Lumiére said grandly from the doorway.

Belle turned and smiled, still unused to talking to a living candelabra. 'Thank you.' She said quietly. 'I will be up there in a minute. Lumiére – could you get someone to see to Philippe? I didn't have time to rub him down and if he isn't seen to he'll freeze.'

Lumiére smiled and nodded, bowing himself out.

Seeing Mrs Potts with the hot water made Belle cross to the chair, where the Beast sat, head lolling, his teeth red with wolf blood.

Belle shuddered, but nonetheless pushed her hair out of her face and poured out the hot water into a small bowl, the steam rose, releasing her numb fingers from their stiff state. She worked them as she rubbed a cloth, soaking it thoroughly through.

She turned to Cogsworth.

'Where are those oils I asked for Monsieur Cogsworth?'

'Over there Madame,' Cogsworth said superiorly, gesturing to the tray on which Mrs Potts had arrived on. Belle chose peppermint and tea tree oils for cleansing and healing, and rubbed them into the cloth, humming as she worked to keep herself distracted from the task at hand.

Gingerly, she shuffled closer to the chair, cringing as the beast stirred in his sleep. Tentatively, she took his arm, which bore the worst wound- a gaping cut, not really deep, but very ragged and pressed the cloth down, cleaning away the dirt and caked blood, combing through the matted fur with her fingers. She worked carefully, sewing the worst of the wounds together with needle and thread.

She was about half way through cleansing a wound on his right arm when he stirred and sat bolt upright.

'Easy,' she whispered, but he was already backing away from her cloth, holding the wound out of reach like a child refusing to accept a remedy for a nettle sting.

'Just-hold-still!' she snapped, darting after the wound. She forgot her inhibitions about being in such close proximity to him, and pressed the cloth down.

She wished she hadn't.

An ear-splitting roar ripped through the air, so loud she withdrew.

'THAT HURTS!' The beast growled, making her hair fly back with the force of his yell.

Belle glared at him, suddenly seeing his avoidance as petulant and silly. She had just saved him – and he was still determined to frighten her!

'If you'd hold _still _it wouldn't hurt as much!' she yelled back, glaring malevolently into those stunning blue eyes. She offered the cloth again but he backed away, eyes livid with anger at having someone answer back.

'If _you _hadn't run away this never would have happened!' he accused, pushing her away roughly with his paw.

Belle stood, as angry as he, hairs tumbling over one side of her face, making her clear face all the more beautiful. Why was she here?

'If _you _hadn't frightened me I wouldn't have run away!' she shrieked, bearing down on him with a fierce glare.

The Beast paused… but it was her who had committed the crime! How dare she talk to him so?

'Well _you _shouldn't have been in the West wing!' he growled triumphantly.

'Well you should learn to control your temper!'

Silence met this remark, like the surface of water after it has boiled, steam roiling away to reveal something calmer underneath.

When no remark came Belle felt her stomach do a little flip. She had won her argument!

'Now,' she said firmly, taking a grip on his arm to show that she wasn't going to be intimidated. 'Hold still. This might sting a little.'

She dipped the cloth in the oily water and wrung it out.

Gently, she pressed it against the wound. The Beast flinched, and she ignored him.

He was more human than she thought, she realised, and, feeling calmer, she looked up at him.

He had been staring at her, and meeting her eyes made him look away. Belle hadn't missed the warmth in his gaze. He was grateful. She could live without his thanks being spoken, that look was enough.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs Potts beam at her, white porcelain glowing red with triumph. Belle hid her smile.

'By the way.' She said, dabbing the dirt away. The beast cringed, and then realised she wasn't going to reprimand him again. She looked at him seriously. 'Thank you. For saving my life.'

His blue eyes glowed. 'You are welcome.' He said. Though it was quiet, it still rumbled through her and she found the riposte to be genuine.

'Belle…'

Belle looked up. He had used her name. She thought he didn't know it.

'Thank you. For saving mine.'

Belle took his paw and squeezed it. 'You are welcome.' She replied.

000

It had snowed again. The landscape and wood around was thick with that carpet of white, and Belle ventured out after Fleur found her suitable outdoor wear. It was flattering: a rose pink dress made her feel ethereal and colourful in the white landscape, and the thick velvet cape, though not entirely sensible made her feel like a princess.

She had watched the beast carefully for the last few weeks, and couldn't believe the character she'd found in him. Together, they had shared literature: books the whereabouts Belle could only guess, but she had found something sensitive in this Beast, something tender, like the rose he was so determined for her not to touch, and she sensed that something about the rose marked his doom, though she couldn't find what.

Up in his tower, The beast watched her walk in the snow, her figure so beautiful in the light of the wintry scene.

He remembered a snowball fight they'd shared, and he had heard her laugh: what a laugh! A tinkling, high and musical sound that made him shiver with pleasure when he heard it. Lumiére, Mrs Potts and Cogsworth, balanced on the balcony, watched their master with keen interest.

'I've never felt this way about anyone.' He mused, the words taken away in his ability to breathe, just by watching her, his entire being was infatuated: his thoughts plagued of thoughts where he could not have her, and he had cried so bitterly at the thought. Who could learn to love a beast?

Still, even if she could not love him, he must try to love her.

'I want to do something for her,' he declared, and then frowned. 'But what?'

He turned to Cogsworth who raised an eyebrow.

'Well there's the usual, Sir, flattery, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep…' he listed them in a bored, irritated voice.

'So romantic.' Mrs Potts remarked sarcastically, just as Lumiére interrupted.

'No, no, no. That's not enough… its got to be something that sparks her interest.

Mrs Potts nodded in approval. 'Any ideas?'

'Aha…' Lumiére thought, pondering this, his mind returned to the walk in the corridor and Belle's exclamation when they'd said she might want to look at the…

'Aha! I know!'

000

'Where are you taking me?' Belle asked, enthralled to be taken somewhere she hadn't seen.

The Beast clutched her hand in his paw, and narrowed his eyes at her with a fang-studded smile.

'I shall show you now… but first, you have to close your eyes.'

Belle raised a suspicious eyebrow.

A surprise? From him? Belle's heart fluttered but she complied, closing off the world as she dropped her eyelids.

The warmth of his paws made her feel safe as he guided her carefully through a door. His breath was low and excited and Belle suppressed a sigh of her own excitement. She contented herself with an expectant smile, and kept it and he left her, walking out from what appeared to be the centre of a room.

'May I open them?'

'Not yet…'

The sound of curtains being drawn distracted her and she felt light across her face.

'Now can I open them?'

The beast's voice from a little way. Was he standing by the window?'

'Alright: now!'

Belle opened her eyes, and her heart gave a huge thump of thrilled excitement.

Books! The library! Shelves upon shelves of books stretching up the vast ceiling overhead, tall ladders leading up to every shelf, and each section cornered off by genre and type and author…

'You… you like it?' The Beast asked eagerly.

'Oh my…!' Belle exclaimed. 'I've never seen son many books in all my life!'

She turned to him, her look of pure tenderness, her hazel eyes beamed.

'Its wonderful!'

She reached out to him and kissed his nose, eyes swimming with excitement, then ran to the nearest shelf.

The Beast stood, frozen, the kiss lingered on him for many moments after… and he couldn't breathe for the feelings that swam inside him.


	5. Le conte aussi vieux que chronometer

**A/N: Hey guys. Since its half term, I have more time on my hands (hehe) so I've got the ballroom chapter early! Please don't pick on my way of spelling "grey" I'm English – its how I spell it! The chapter titles for this were difficult but I chose one eventually – this one is called "tale as old as time" but literally it translates to "a story as old as clock"! Which is cool in a very French way, methinks… **

Le conte aussi vieux que chronometer** or **_tale as old as time_

The man in the cold cellar room turned to Lefou with cold, watery grey eyes.

'Monsieur Gaston promised to be here _on time_.' He said, tapping his pocket watch impatiently.

'He will be.' Lefou assured him, fixing the old man with a wary stare. He wanted to be sure there was no way this thin, spectral ghost of being could sneak up on him – he was sure it would give him hideous nightmares and Lefou was not a man who favoured nightmares – much less – he loathed them.

The man's face was skeletal, bald on top, but fringed with a lank grey mane that dropped around his eyes – cloaking his face in shadow. With his low, crouched stoop, sallow white skin and thin fingers laced together, he looked less like a man and more like a vampire waiting for its prey. It made Lefou feel like a fat dormouse in clear range of the talons of an owl.

Up the shadowy street footsteps echoed up – revealing Gaston – tall, greatly muscled in chest and neck and thighs. His black hair loose, floating over his face, contrasting with smooth skin, built like a hero, with a deep voice that spoke as if he were in an opera. His dark cloak was billowing, making him appear part of the shadows, so that suddenly Lefou felt as if he were stuck between _two _vampires – one old, frail and spectral, one lethal, swift and hungry.

He shuddered as Gaston flashed the man his white teeth, lighting a dirty yellow candle and unlocking the door that both Lefou and the old man had been standing in front of for the last ten minutes.

Gaston offered the open door to the man, who stepped through. Lefou hurried in after.

'So… let me get this straight, who want me to throw Mademoiselle Belle's father into the insane asylum unless she agrees to marry you?'

'I would pay with interest.' Gaston replied, pushing a colourless, unmarked sack across the table. It's contents jingled as the man picked it up.

He began to laugh. A dry, raspy laugh that made Lefou shudder and Gaston leer.

'What do you think?' Gaston asked, 'What do you think of the plan?'

The man eyed the bag. 'That is despicable.' He said softly. 'I love it!'

000

Combing through the Beast's tangled mane was no easy job for the barber servant. Once a man in his late forties, he had become a large toiletry stand, but he managed to maneuver his wooden limbs around the Beast to snip here and there, and ease out the worst of the knots.

The Beast did not help. Every time the stand tugged him he felt the beginnings of rage well up on him. Being with Belle meant that he had lost most of his foul and volatile temper, but irritating things like haircuts didn't do what was best to keep him calm.

He sighed, staring at the creature before him in the mirror.

'What am I supposed to do?' he asked despairingly, 'I can't dress up! I am this: just this monster. The sorceress said so herself that night: who could ever learn to…'

'Learn to love a beast.' Lumiére snapped, glaring at his master. 'You have _got _to stop feeling so sorry for yourself master, or you will never win her lo-'

he stopped when he saw what the barber had done to the mane, dressed in bows and ringlets.

'Er… oh, oh you look so… so …'

'Stupid.' The Beast pronounced bluntly, staring at himself with slumped brows.

'Not _quite _the word I was looking for.' Lumiére said rather too –optimistically. He turned to the barber. 'But perhaps… er… a little more off the top?'

Returned to normal, the beast was just being pulled into a royal blue dinner jacket, trimmed in gold when Cogsworth appeared round the door.

He made a bravado of announcing himself before announcing, 'Dinner is served.'

000

Tale as old as time… 

From the opposite end of the staircase, Belle glided down the steps towards him, where he stood in the centre.

She blushed as she stood in the light, her chocolate hair twined to the back of her head with a gold clasp, showing her ear lobes, from each one shining earring hung, glinting in the candlelit chandelier, reflecting her eyes too: bright against peach-like skin, her cheeks dashed with a little rouge. The gold dress fell slightly off each shoulder, leaving her collarbone exposed, still, it slipped down, tied at the back like a corset, it accentuated her slim form before billowing out into many golden skirts. This too had extended detail: glittering net over the silk, sequins and diamonds. Silk gloves came up to her arms. She touched his arm.

True as it can be… barely even friends, 

The Beast felt his chest tighten. He could hardly speak. 'You look… so beautiful.'

Belle blushed. How could this be? How could she fall in love with the Beast?

'You look wonderful.' She breathed, noting the proud tail of his coat, his mane was combed away, the blue eyes ever more prominent, shining so bright at the sight of her.

_Then somebody bends, unexpectedly._

Blushing, Belle dipped low into a curtsey. The Beast gasped, and she looked up.

'Is something wrong?'

She was bowing to him!

Breathing, The beast shook his head and bowed deeply, wanting to sweep her up in his arms… wanting to kiss her… No. He could not do that. Smiling, he offered her one large arm, and beaming, she took it.

Just a little change, small to say the least… 

As the violins played behind them, Belle found she couldn't eat a thing, the strings so tempting, the piano pulling her from her seat.

She set down her fork hastily, pushing back her chair and walked to him, taking him by both paws and drawing him up.

'Where are you taking m-'

'Shh.' She whispered. She led him into the centre of the hall, the music playing around, floating in between their bodies.

Both a little scared, neither one prepared… 

Gently, Belle took his paw and placed it on her hip, then took the other and led him in song. Together they traversed the hall, graceful, and he was neither man nor Beast and she was only a girl, like lovers they danced, sweeping around, and he twirled her, he tossed her…

The music slowed, and gently, they drew together and Belle found that her heart was thumping in her chest. She could hardly breathe.

_Tale as old as time. _

I love her, he thought.

_Song as old as rhyme. _

Do I love him? She wondered.

There they danced, together. 'Til the music slowed. Together.

_Beauty and The Beast. _


	6. Le Miroir et comment la Beauté part

**A/N: I know, I know. I am a horrible, bad person for not posting for months and months slaps wrist bad me. Hope you like this.**

Dizzy, head spinning from the dance, Belle and the Beast made their way outside, both walking with the unsteady steps of two drunk on each other.

Out on the balcony it was cool, and the air refreshed her, though she was not hot. Gently, she sat down, arranging her golden skirts so they didn't crinkle against the stone.

She looked out into the night, and sighed, looking out into the woods that stretched beyond. The moon was up, and from indoors, the Beast was lit with gentle golden light.

He looked at her, and his heart skipped a beat, seeing that those inquisitive, all seeing hazel eyes focused on him. She was so beautiful… he thought.

Gently, he reached down and retrieved her palm, encased in the pale yellow glove. 'Belle,' he whispered, looking at it.

'Are you… happy here?'

Belle's face broke into a sweet smile. 'Yes, of course!' she enthused, eyes bright. She looked down then, afraid that if she said any more it would spoil the aftermath of their dance, gently, she placed her hand atop his paw, but he had noticed her slight dismay.

'What is it?'

She avoided his gaze, and turned her head. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

'Belle?' he enquired anxiously, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. As soon as the gesture was done, he withdrew like a skittish horse.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered.

Belle looked at him then, pulled his paw. 'I _am _happy.' She insisted, feeling cruel for upsetting him. But she couldn't tell an outright lie either, tears leaked out of her eyes and she wiped them away fiercely.

Finally, she said, 'I love it here… I love the castle, the servants, I love…'

She put a hand to her mouth, trying to draw the words out, or trying to stop herself.

She turned away, tears coming now, and no amount of blotting could stem them. She couldn't say it, she really couldn't. She did not love him.

She loved his company, but she didn't, she couldn't. And he had been so kind to her, so wonderful. _Is this who you are? _She hissed at herself angrily, tears streaming down her face. _Is this how shallow you are? _

She made herself look at him, concern and guilt riddled his face. But she wasn't afraid of his face anymore. It wasn't his appearance that stopped her short of love for him. But he had been so good to her… why was the feeling not there?

'Belle, please tell me what's wrong.' He begged.

She took his paw. 'It isn't you.' She whispered, through her tears. She reached up to dry her face with her glove. _He deserves the truth, at least. _She thought.

'I wish I could see my father again.' She said honestly. 'If only for a moment… I miss him so much.'

Beast sighed with relief. A problem he could solve, at least. No she didn't love him. But it mattered little. He loved her, he would do anything for her. 'There is a way.' He said, finally.

She looked up, suddenly lighting with hope. He managed to make his eyes smile.

'Come with me.'

000

The West Wing was still dilapidated, but more cobwebs now hung in dreary hellishness, thick on the ceiling, coating the drapes, the furniture.

About to voice that he shouldn't still live here, she saw his face, pained, as if walking in here was a fierce test of his resilience.

She was unable to stop herself from looking around, gazing at the furniture: ripped apart, splintered wood everywhere she stepped. Her eyes travelled about the room, looking for the rose, the one she wasn't allowed to see.

He led her to the balcony, and from a dusty table he lifted a mirror, silver backed, with a long, handle. Age showed in the oily stains that sank deep into the decoration. The mirror itself was framed with silver roses, the petals as fragile as the real thing.

He offered it to her, and she took it, staring at her reflection. Out in the hall way, she had passed the smashed mirror, fragments of the glass still lay on the floor. Last she had past that her reflection had been scared, she had been in simple, every day attire.

As she looked at herself now, her stomach twisted as she saw the difference, the globes of gold glittering in her ear lobes, her longer than it had been when she arrived, trailing down her shoulder, where she had left it free of the clasp. Here eyes seemed more alive, brighter. Behind her, the beast, reflected in finery: the royal blue coat encasing drooped shoulders.

'What's it for?' Belle asked, indicating the mirror.

'It will show you anything you need to know. Just ask.'

Belle gazed at her reflection for a few minutes, not out of vanity, but because she knew her next question would hurt her.

'I'd like to see my father, please.' She said quietly.

For a moment nothing happened, then her own reflection rippled, and the surface of the mirror went a pearly colour. When the image cleared, snow whipped past, the trees of the woods were skeletal in pale light, a hunched form battled the wind, lantern in ice-white hand.

Belle felt her heart leap, '_Papa_!' she whispered, distressed. Whatever she had expected to see, it wasn't this…

_But you should have known. _A part of her said solemnly. _You should have known he would come after you. _

Even as she watched, Maurice stumbled and fell into a deep drift, coughing heartily, his nose blue, her lips chapped, squinty eyes trying to see through the falling snow.

'Oh, Papa! He's sick! He might be dying! I must…'

She stopped. She was his prisoner.

She was bound not to leave. It was her life for her fathers, and her promise still remained.

The beast took her hand. 'Then. You must go to him.'

His voice was gentle, but pain was lanced through it, as though all his willpower was needed to make him say it.

'You mean… I'm free?'

She could scarcely believe it. She held her breath for his confirmation.

'Yes.' He said.

'Thank you, Oh, thank you!'

She said, handing him the mirror.

'Keep it.' He whispered, pushing it back toward her. 'So you'll always have a way to look back…. And remember me.'

Belle looked at the mirror, and smiled, holding it to her.

'Thank you for understanding how much he needs me.' She said, emotion entangled in her voice.

He looked away, eyes averted, filled with… was that tears?

She put a hand, very gently, on his face, turned, and walked away, first slowly, and then faster. He watched her go.

In her room, Belle shucked the dress as quickly as she could, trying not to rip it, though it was hard, Fleur, the maid servant turned to wardrobe form, found her old blue dress and brown leather boots at her request. They looked plain and worn next to the finery that lay on her bed, but she had no time to contemplate it. She donned her old clothes… remembering the last time she had worn them the Beast had saved her…

She threw the memory aside.

'You can't stay?' Fleur said mournfully. 'Won't you stay? Won't you please, dear?'

'I can't.' Belle said awkwardly removing the earrings, necklace and gold clasp from her hair, 'My father needs me.' Her brown locks fell loose, but she quickly tied them up once more, lifting them into a ribbon with quick fingers.

Fleur regretfully handed her old felt cape, a little torn and frayed at the bottom.

Belle pulled the drawstring into a knot, pressed a hand to the wardrobe and murmured her thanks. Picking up a bag, she left for the stables and saddled Philippe.

At the gate, she looked back, right up to the balcony of the west wing. The Beast stood in the shadows, but she knew he was there.

She turned, eyes filling with tears and nudged Philippe into a gallop.

'How did you feel that went Sir?' asked Mrs Potts from the end of the West Wing.

'The Lady seemed quite impressed, I thought... and…'

'I let her go.'

The words were disbelieving, and the Beast's eyes filled as he said it.

'You what?' Mrs Potts asked, in the same tone.

'I let her go.' He repeated.

Lumiere, not far from the door overheard, and came round the door.

'But _why_?' he asked desperately.

'Because.' The Beast whispered, emotion cracking his voice.

'**_I love her_**.'


	7. le monstre

**A/N: Hey guys – sorry to change so much, but I think that some of your comments were quite valid, and that it wasn't really the time for Gaston to make such a move… and, apart from anything I thought it was a pretty lame piece of writing so, anyway, here's a chapter that's closer to the plot….thanks to an angel fire site for the Beauty and the Beast script for me to follow.**

When Maurice stirred on the bed, Belle dropped the plate she was washing and ran to his side, breathlessly watching her father stir. She had found him in a bitter and hopeless condition: frostbite and chilblains rising in his limbs. She had feared the worst… but Philippe had travelled fast through the wood, so the journey was uneventful, and thankfully free of any hungry beasts.

Maurice coughed, spluttered, and opened his eyes, blearily looking up into his daughter's eyes, wide and caring… so full of love, he saw.

But there was something missing and something; he saw that had changed in her. She looked less like a girl and more like a woman – a face that spoke of independence and free will… but he saw hurt there too – a familiar hurt that he could remember but could not place.

'Belle?' he whispered.

Belle smiled wearily, 'Papa.'

She leaned into his chest and he hugged her tightly, stroking her hair. 'Belle! How did you find me? How did you escape?'

Belle felt tears prickle her eyes, but she let the tears come, let them slide down her face into her hands.

'Belle? What's wrong?' Maurice pleaded, lifting his daughter's hand away from her face.

'What did he do to you?'

Belle lifted her hand away, a gesture that was angry and confused and blinded by tears. 'Nothing!' she gasped, halfway between sobbing and shouting.

'Papa, I didn't escape! He let me go!'

'That horrible beast?' Maurice croaked, incredulous that this pronouncement stirred a sob from Belle.

'He not, Papa! He's different! He's…' Belle looked around the room, as if casting about for words to depict what differences could be made to the being that had terrorized both of them upon their first meeting.

She sighed. 'He's changed somehow.'

Maurice fought down a rising cough and then looked at his daughter. Really looked at her. He knew the face she was making. It was love – or something like it. She was missing the beats who had taken her prisoner. How was it possible?

And yet he knew that it must be. Belle would not fall for anyone, and he knew her heart was good, knew that somehow, the monster must be so much more.

He drew her in again. 'Tell me then.' He said, taking her hand.

'Belle, tell what happened.'

Belle gave a reluctant smile and wiped her tears away. 'I'll make tea first.' She said, squeezing her father's hand and getting up. As she walked past the dresser, her toe knocked the bag that lay next to it, and out of the canvas rolled a cup, the white porcelain distinctive by it's purple adornments – and by the disgruntled face that shone out of it.

'Chip!' Belle gasped, as the boy righted himself with a little hop and gazed up at her with wide eyes.

His eyes caught sight of Maurice and giggled. 'Moustache man.' He said, by way of recognition.

'Well, hello there little fella.' Maurice crooned.

'I think we have a stowaway.' Belle said, smiling uneasily, though her heart was racing.

_It means I'll have to go back… I'll have to take Chip back!_

'Belle, why did you leave? Don't you like us anymore?' Chip's eyes were sad and enquiring.

Belle smiled sadly. 'Oh, Chip, of course I do! It's just that-'

'Someone at the door?' Maurice wondered aloud.

Belle got up and crossed to the window.

A very thin man stood on the porch, looking pointedly at the door, as if expecting it to open for him. He was slightly hunched, and his sallow skin glowed eerily in the twilight, his eyes were heavy lidded and lined with grey, and his mouth was twisted in a cruel and bitter manner, a thin line of twisting malice.

Belle shied from the window, but only went to the door when he knocked again.

She lifted the stiff metal catch and let the door open a crack. The man's greedy eyes instantly flitted to her, and she felt suddenly overwhelmingly trapped, as if she were a moth and he a bat that had at last cornered his meal.

It was a feeling that she rebelled against, and it caused her to open the door wider, so that she could fill it's frame with her body, as menacing as she could manage.

'Can I help you?' she asked in a hard, business like tone.

'I have come to collect your father, Mademoiselle.' He had a cool, cutting voice, crisp with a cunning ease that made her wriggle with distaste.

'Excuse me?'

'The villagers have grown tired with old man's tall tales… My dear its high time we found him somewhere much more… suitable. He stepped aside; Belle uttered an outraged gasp, as he revealed a wagon, blackened by time or paint, and crudely painted with the word "Asylum."

Belle felt anger bubble inside her as she saw most of the villagers had turned out to observe this spectacle – coming to laugh, to scorn. Come to see crazy old Maurice finally get what was coming to him.

'Go away!' Belle hissed. 'My father is not crazy!'

Belle heard LeFou's childish, mocking voice over the crowd and saw him, his round, chubby face wrought with mirth. 'He was raving like a lunatic!' he declared, and then turned to the gathered people. 'We all heard him, didn't we?'

There was yells of confirmation and a shiver of murmurs, but Belle barred the door.

'No! I won't let you!'

Belle was about to step outside and close the door behind her when Maurice bustled up behind her, calling, 'Belle, what's all this about?'

'Stay inside, Papa.' Belle said, gently pushing her father back

'Ah, Maurice,' LeFou sneered, spotting her father in the doorway.

'Tell us again, old man, just how big was the Beast?'

Maurice stumbled clumsily out the door, oblivious to the looks of mockery and derisiveness shown on every face.

'He was… enormous!' Maurice said, stumbling, willing them all to believe him. 'I'd say eight… no, more like ten feet!'

The laughter that met this pronouncement stung Belle like a slap, but before she could reach for her father, pull him back, save him from himself, LeFou cackled, 'You don't get much crazier than that, and stepped aside for two men who had previously been standing by the cart. They came foreword, ignoring Maurice protests – 'It's true I tell you!' and seized him by the arms.

'Let go of him! Belle shrieked indignantly, barely noticing as Gaston came to stand beside her… she hadn't known he was there.

She grabbed the thin man's arm. 'No!' she hissed. 'You can't do this! I won't let you!'

The man turned and observed her anger, there was a cold, bitter and wretched fury in his eyes, an unrelenting dislike for all who dared to contradict his word. The malevolence behind it caused Belle to loosen her grip on his sleeve and, at her release, he shrugged his arm free and marched up to the carriage, brandishing steel keys to lock up the crazy one.

'Poor Belle.' A soothing, deep voice crooned in her ear. Belle turned, and there was Gaston right behind her, one muscular arm holding her to him with a tenderness Belle had not conceived possible of him. 'It's a shame about your father.' He acknowledged, nodding sadly toward the carriage where Maurice was being frog marched.

Belle tugged desperately at Gaston's shirt, 'You _know _he's not crazy Gaston!'

She knew that even Gaston in all his arrogance and self-indulgence could not mistake her father's eccentricity for lunacy.

Gaston nodded, but avoided her eye as he said, 'I _might _be able to clear up this little… misunderstanding…if…' a tricky smile curled on his lips.

'If?' Belle said cautiously.

'If you marry me.' Gaston smiled down at her, with the same indulgence of someone offering a treat to a toddler. It was as if it were every girl's dream.

'Never!' Belle snapped, a derisive not to her voice. She was through with being polite, through being the object of his ego.

Gaston shrugged. 'Have it your way.' He turned, glancing over his shoulder, watching her face contort with helplessness, but then she was gone, hurrying into her house, trying to block out her father's protests and the jibes of the sneering crowd.

She emerged seconds later, her hands clutched something tight to her breast: a mirror, elaborately decorated – pearly white, and glittering by the light by the flares and torches the villagers held.

'My father's not crazy and I can prove it!' she cried, and this at least, bought her the attention of the observers. '_Proof?_' from the lunatic's daughter?

'Show me the Beast,' she whispered into the mirror, and her breath condensated on it's surface, blurring her reflection: brown eyes determined… she winced as the light began to crack across the surface, as the white glare made her look away, but she turned the mirror to the crowd and held it aloft. There they saw him: great shaggy mane hanging somberly from his thick hide, teeth shining ivory, claws held over his face as he looked down from the balcony of the West Wing. They by-passed the pained look in his eyes – so undeniably human, so hurt… and then the Beast threw back his head and roared, and though sound came from the mirror, it shook in Belle's hand.

The villagers backed away, looking shocked, several even turned to run back to the village. One among the crowd, the baker's wife whispered. 'It's it dangerous?'

Belle recognised the fear in the woman's eyes, and shook her head imploringly. 'No! No! He wouldn't hurt anyone… I know… I know he looks dangerous, but he's very kind and gentle…' she paused, and then said very quietly, 'He's my friend.'

'Is that tenderness, Belle?' Gaston cried mockingly. 'A secret love you've found in my place. Do you harbour feelings for this monster?'

Belle's feeling of anger increased tenfold. 'He's no monster, Gaston!' She snarled, 'You are!'

Whatever her riposte to his snide insinuation, it was quite clear that Gaston had not expected to hear that. His face became suddenly contorted, his brow furrowed, and his eyes blazed as she stared defiantly into them.

'She's… she's as crazy as the old man!' he declared, rage in every note of his voice.

He grabbed her wrist, and, by mere reflex and repulsion at the contact of him, Belle slapped him with all the strength she could muster. He swung around, twisted her arm and wrenched the mirror from her grip, as belated shrieks of outrage spread through the onlookers.

He threw Belle down and held the mirror aloft, showing the villagers the face once again, 'This is the face of one kind and gentle?' he roared, to yells of affirmation from the crowd. 'This monster wouldn't hurt anyone?' he threw a look of disgust at Belle.

'The Beast will make off with our children!' Gaston shouted,

'Make off with our livestock, rip our throats in the night!'

'NO!' Belle cried, but no one would listen.

'We should gather what weapons we have!' LeFou yelled, leaping with the excitement of the collective anger. The villagers rumbled their agreement, yelling and shouting.

'I don't think we're safe 'til his head's mounted above the inn!' Gaston roared, and the villagers yelled in conferment.

A chant began, a low rumbling murmur, and then they shouted, letting it ring in the air with pronouncement, excitement cutting into every tongue: 'Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast!'

Belle ran forward, 'No! You can't! I won't…'

'If you're not with us you're against us!' LeFou snapped.

'He's right!' Gaston yelled, 'Bring the old man!'

Belle struggled against Gaston's vice-like grip, but his hands were unrelenting. Heading toward the cellar, he opened the doors and threw her in, Maurice after her.

'No!' Belle cried in protest, throwing herself upward, but the doors shut before she could reach them. 'Let us out!' She thrust herself against the doors, but they remained stubbornly closed – not that this deterred her – she struggled against the locks until Maurice pulled her into his arms and she sobbed with rage and frustration.

The Beast would die, and it was all her fault.


End file.
